


And He Didn't Wear a Pencil Skirt

by sweet_sue_sparrow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Murder, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_sue_sparrow/pseuds/sweet_sue_sparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean smith was not expecting the new secretary to be- this. Castiel Novak is a weird guy with a weird name and on top of that he's not an attractive woman. But somehow, Dean finds he doesn't mind so much. As his relationship with Cas becomes more intimate, the mystery that surrounds the secretary only deepens.  What the hell is going on at Sandover and who is Castiel Novak?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            The new secretary was a man.  Admittedly, Dean had been picturing a woman, curvy and attractive; the classic model complete with pencil skirt and cherry-red lipstick.  The new guy did not wear a pencil skirt.

            There was something indescribably odd about the man.  It was not his appearance –lean, pale, dark haired- but his manner.  His back was a little too straight, his gaze -a strange shade of blue- was a little too intense.  It gave him the look of a set in a play; all thin, plywood walls, pretending to be solid.  There as, n doubt, some darker place behind them.  Cavernous, so as to contain the ropes and pullies that simulated humanity –albeit rather poorly.  In short he was too good to be true, there had to be some dark secret there.

            He showed up for work the first day in a raincoat, this despite the fact that it was 75 and sunny outside.  When Dean came to meet him he was standing awkwardly  by his new desk, which he had not adorned with personal effects.

            “So you’re the new guy, huh?”  He extended his hand and the other man shook it awkwardly.  “It’s Castiel right?  Cas.  Is it okay if I call you Cas?  Nice to meet you.  I’m Dean Smith, Dean.  Just ‘cause I’m your boss doesn’t mean you have to be formal with me, that’s really not my style.”

            For a moment –only a moment- there was a strange look in Cas’s eyes, something pained, almost, but then it was gone.

            “You okay man?”  He asked.

            “Yes.  I’m fine.  When do I start?”

            “Uh, now I guess.  Here,” Dean leaned on Cas’s desk.  “You probably already know all this stuff, but just in case, the scheduling stuff is pretty basic.  I have a packed schedule basically every day but you seem like an organized guy, so that shouldn’t be an issue.  With calls, you let them know that they’ve reached me, then let me know who’s calling and I’ll tell you if it’s important.  If it isn’t just say ‘Mr. Smith is not available right now, can I take your message?  We good?”  Dean paused to check the other man’s reaction.  Cas nodded, looking intently at him.

            “Yes.”  He said.

            “Great.  I’ll leave you to it then.”

            As soon as he was back in his office, Dean broke into a wide grin. Seriously, the guy was a total mystery.  This wasn’t to say he wasn’t good, he was fine.  Cas was as apt at his simple job as one could hope.   He kept Dean’s appointments, answered the phone and put calls through with the kind of plodding efficiency of one determined to succeed at a menial job.

            Lunch rolled around and Dean pulled out a Tupperware full of salad.  This diet, man, it was driving him crazy.  He leaned out the door to check on Cas.  The man was still seated obediently at his desk, a lock of dark brown hair falling infuriatingly into his face.  Of course he wasn’t eating, that only furthered his android-like persona. 

            “I’m on lunch,” Dean called, “don’t let anyone through unless it’s really important.”

            “Alright.”

            Dean thought that despite his not being a woman, Cas made an excellent secretary if only because it would be a joy to hear his voice over the phone.  His voice low and rough, but soft around the edges like a cat’s purring.  Not that Dean put a lot of thought into Cas’s voice. 

            From the desk issued: “Mr. Smith is unavailable right now, can I take your message?”  Word for fucking word.

            The rest of the day was quiet, standard.  He stayed a little late, he had a busy life, deadlines to meet.  By the time he left, the sun was well and gone.  He ate the rest of the salad he’d had for lunch for dinner.  It was funny, he could afford to eat out every night if he wanted to, but instead he ate leftover salad alone in his apartment.

            The next day he had a meeting upstairs.  He left Cas answering the phone better than the machine did, and ascended the elevator to the drowsy heat of the 25th floor.  The meeting was not long, but it felt long.  They were talking about that guy from tech support who died a few days back.  How could suicide be so boring?  He found his thoughts drifting back to that enigma who served as his secretary. 

            Cas gave him an odd feeling.  Something like déjà vu but still more subtle.  Really, he knew he had never met the guy before in his life, he would have remembered if he had.  But that voice, those eyes, he couldn’t shake it.

            “Smith?  Mr. Smith?  Dean, you listening?  Meeting’s over.”

            “Yeah, sorry Mr. Adler.” 

            “It’s fine, it’s fine, no big deal.”  The older man, similar in facial structure to a frog and only slightly less bald, laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder.  “How’s the new secretary working out?”

            “Great.  He’s great.”  The two men made their way back to the elevator. 

            “Good.  Good.  It’s Novak, right?” 

            Dean nodded, “Cas Novak.  Castiel, actually, weird name.”

            Mr. Adler smiled.  “I guess it is.  Listen, do you mind if I steal him for second when we get to your floor?”

            “Not at all, sir.”  But Dean couldn’t help but wonder why.  Something in the older man’s voice made him want to refuse.  For Cas’s  sake.  Though he couldn’t imagine what the poor guy had done to get Zach Adler on his ass.

            There was a ping and the elevator doors drew apart.  Even from there Dean could see the desk, could see Cas, flipping through the notebook that kept Dean’s schedule.  The way he sat, the way he looked at everything like it was the most interesting thing in the world, that man was a walking paradox and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away.

            “Mr. Novak!”  Cas did a double take, as if he didn’t at first recognize the name. 

            The look he gave Mr. Adler was a mixture of fear and distrust that made Dean pause in the doorway and look back.

            “Go ahead, Dean, I’ll only keep Cas here for a second.”  Mr. Adler smiled and waved Dean off.

            Dean closed his door then thought again and leaned against it to listen.  Eavesdropping, he felt like a little kid.

            “Zachariah.”

            “What are you doing here Castiel?”

            “I’m just looking in.  To make sure they’re alright.”

            “They’re fine, Castiel, they’ll be fine.  Now remember your place and get out.”

            “No.”

            “No?  Oh, poor loyal Castiel.  They don’t remember you, they don’t need you.  Why don’t you just poof away and wait for this whole exercise to be over?” 

            “I will not let you toy with them like this.”

            “They’re happier like this than they’ll ever be in the real world.  Why not just let them enjoy it while it lasts?”

            “I won’t leave them.”

            “Fine, stay.  Just look and see how happy they are before you come in here and ruin everything.”

            Dean stopped listening.  Whatever code they were using it was beyond him.  All of that loyalty and watching over people crap straight out of a bad TV drama.  Obviously he was missing something and he sure as hell wasn’t going to pry into the Boss’s business.  Then he saw Cas’s face and all that changed.

            The man was ashen faced, all wide blue eyes and quaking lips.  Anxiety was etched in every line of his visage.

            “Hey, Cas, you okay?”

            “Yes, I’m fine.”  He fumbled with the schedule book.

            “You don’t sound fine.  Hey, you know what?  My day ends at five today.  If you can stick it out till then we could go get drinks, on me.”

            “What?”

            “Hey, man, I know Adler can be scary, if you need to talk it out, I’m here.”

            Cas just squinted at Dean like he was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. 

            “So, drinks, yes… no?”

            “Yes.”

            “Great,” Dean started back toward his office “five o’clock okay?”

            “Okay.”

            Once he shut the door on Cas, he could do nothing but collapse against it.  Did he seriously just ask Cas out for drinks?  He had an open mind about these things, really, he did.  But did he just ask the new guy, the secretary –who admittedly was kind of hot- to go get drinks with him?  Damn it, he was Dean Smith, he dieted, he dedicated his life to work.  Work, not going out with his secretary.  That was unprofessional, that was cliché!  But then who said this was a date?  This was just drinks, this was just talking.  That was all.

            The hour and a half until five dragged itself out like it was years.  The emails, the memos Dean had read dissolved into meaningless strings of letters.  Damn it, _this_ was why workplace romance was off limits.  Did he just call it a romance?  Fuck! 

            At last, at long last the clock on his wall released him.  Dean loosened his tie a little as he packed up his brief case.  Cas was at his desk, getting his raincoat.

            “Hey,” said Dean, “you still up for drinks?”

            “Yes, I’m ready.”  It was like hw was standing at attention.

            They didn’t speak again until they were leaving the building.  Cas stopped for a second when a man passed him.  It was that guy from Tech Support, the absurdly tall one who had spoken to Dean in the elevator. 

            “You know that guy?”  He asked.

            A long pause.  “No.”

            They walked through the busy concrete jungle of the financial district, past other men in ties and jackets.  Other polished shoes, other briefcases. 

            “Where are we going?”  Cas asked.

            “I heard about this great place around here.  Aaron from marketing research wouldn’t shut up about the great atmosphere.  I think that’s it.”  He pointed to a black and white awning, a wooden sign that protruded from the monotony of glass fronted office buildings.

 “Dean, I have a confession to make,” the look on Cas’s face was pure mortification.  “I am not- accustomed to drinking.  I don’t remember liking it very much.” 

            Maybe it was Cas’s solemn tone, maybe it was sheer relief.  Dean laughed, heartily.

            “What?”  Cas demanded, “why are you laughing?”

            “I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t drink either.  I’m on the cleanse.”

            “Oh.”

            Dean thought a moment.  “You know what, screw the bar.  You want to go for a walk?”

            “Alight.”  Cas nodded stoically.

            “So,” the concrete had given way to the grass and shrubbery of a city park, “what did Adler want with you?”  
            “It was nothing.”

            “It didn’t look like nothing.”

            “Dean,” Cas paused a long moment.  “Would it be alright if we talked about you instead.”

            “Oh,” Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was being forward or just awkward.  Nevertheless the indulged the other man.  He told him about his family.  His parents, his kid sister.  He tried to ignore the slightly pained expression on Cas’s face.

            “Are you happy?”  Dean stopped short.  Cas had a hand on his arm and was looking intently at him.

            “Yeah.”  It was almost a question.

            The other man nodded.

            “Cas look, is this –I’ve got to ask, is this- am I imagining that there’s something going on here?”

            “Something?”

            “Something more than just two dudes on a walk.”

            “Oh,” Cas looked truly confused, “but you’re not-“

            “The type?  Trust me Cas, there’s a lot more to me than meets the eye.”

            That squint, those blue eyes, questioning.  He pulled Cas close, all of a sudden, and before he was aware of it, he was kissing the other man.

            “Am I crazy?”  He whispered against Cas’s soft mouth.

            “No.  You’re not.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Smith, director of sales and marketing at Sandover, rose early, ate a healthy breakfast and drank his late in the car.  He rode the elevator to the 22nd floor, smiling self satisfactorily to himself all the way.  Outside his office, he winked at his secretary.  

“Hey, Cas.”  He said.  It had been two days since that strange kiss in the park, and since then little had happened besides the occasional brushing of hands in the elevator, lingering eye contact that broke when Cas inevitably looked down.

“Hello, Dean.”  The other man looked up from the schedule he was looking through.  There was still a certain amount of incredulity in his squint.

“How’ve you been?”  Dean asked, leaning against the desk.

“I’ve been well.  Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, um, by the way,” Dean grinned sheepishly, shifting his weight from one leg to another, “You had fun, right?  Last time?”

“Yes.  Last time was wonderful.”  He looked down and almost smiled.

“So would you want to, you know, do it again?”

“What?”

“Like, tonight?  It’s a friday night and I never did get to buy you a drink, what do you say I get you dinner?”

Cas squinted up at him, lips parted ever so slightly.  “I...would like that.  That sounds pleasant.”  

“Great.  What time do I get off?”

“5:30.”  Cas didn’t even look down at the notebook.

“Then I’ll get you at 5:30.”  Dean straightened to go.  He looked back only once, to see Cas squinting with utter disbelief, into the air.  He grinned as he closed the door to his office.

There was a long email about suicide in the workplace.  Just because one guy stuck his head in the microwave, suddenly everyone was a disaster waiting to happen.  But Dean was feeling about as far from suicidal as it was possible to feel.  Things were great.  There was a recession on but sales were fine.  And not to brag, but things definitely weren’t looking this good three weeks ago when he started.  It might be a small job, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing the world, or at least the economy, some good.  He was saving the company money, hunting new clients.  Someone had to do it and he was a damn good fit.  And as if all that weren’t enough reason to be happy, there was the enigma in the wrinkled blue tie, sitting right outside his door.  The not-unattractive enigma whom he had kissed two nights ago and who he was taking out to dinner this one.  Indeed, Dean Smith considered himself perfectly happy.

The next few hours were taken up mostly with a business call to a client in Ohio.  Dean made sure to ask after the man’s wife and kids.  They were doing well, thank you.  When that was done, he answered a few emails while, in the background, Terry Gross announced that NPR, National Public Radio was made possible by listeners like him.  He made a mental note to donate a little more the next time they had a pledge drive.

“Dean?”  Cas’s gruff pur of a voice came over the phone.  “Mr. Adler is here to see you.”

“Oh, let him in.”  Dean had a thing or two to say to Mr. Adler about harassing his secretary.  That look on Cas’s face after their discussion still stuck in the back of his mind.  

Dean didn’t have the guts to come right out and confront Adler.  Instead, when the man entered, smiling that too-wide, vaguely sinister smile of his, Dean shook his hand, smiled, offered him a seat.  Mr. Adler had nothing but good news and praise for Dean.  Demand was up, sales were good.  What would he think of a business trip to San Francisco to meet with a client?  Oh, and he was sorry but Dean might need to stay in until 8 or 9 next tuesday to meet that deadline.  That was fine, he just needed to be off by 5:30 today.  Mr. Adler said that would be alright.  If he kept up like this there would be big things in his future.  Big things.  That was all?  Yes.  That was all.

“Wait, Mr. Alder?”

“Yes?”

“It’s about my secretary, Mr. Novak?”

“What about him?”  There was a barely detectable change in the man’s voice.  Suddenly there were dark undercurrents of danger there.

Dean shifted uneasily in his seat.  “He was really shaken up after you talked.”

“And?”

“Whatever beef you have with him, it would be great if you could just tell me so I could deal with him myself.  So you wouldn’t have to-”

“Have to what?”  That barely-detectable danger reared it’s head a little.

To scare the everloving shit out of him?  Dean didn’t know how to put it nicely.  “All I mean is I can handle Cas myself.”

Mr. Alder sighed.  “Look, I can tell you and Cas over there hit it off the other day, and that’s great, but you should know, he may not be around forever.”

Dean’s fear at that statement translated into indignation.  “If you’re going to let him go you need to at least tell me why.”

“If I do let him go, I will.”

And that was that.

Lunch was at his desk again, green drink.  This followed by a long call with the director of the market research team.  He shot off a couple more emails and then it was 5:30.  

“So,” Dean leaned against Cas’s desk.  “It’s friday night, I’m thinking somewhere extravagant.”

“Whatever you like.”  Cas donned his ridiculous raincoat.

“You didn’t drive here did you?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll take my car.”

In the elevator down, Dean let his hand slide into Cas’s.  The other man’s fingers flared in surprise then settled warmly around Dean’s.  There was something in the tentativeness of the gesture that suggested that Cas was unused to hand holding, or being affectionate at all.  The tall guy from Tech Support joined them in the elevator.  Sam, something.  He looked from Dean to Cas, not so much judgmentally as shocked.  He looked away when Dean raised his eyebrows.

Having Cas in his car was almost more intimate than kissing him.  They did that again too, Dean leaning over and entangling his fingers in the other man’s hair.  Cas’s lips were soft and the little surprised exhale he let out when Dean led with his tongue was warm and oddly sweet-tasting.  

When Dean pulled away, and he was the one who pulled away, Cas just looked up at him with that squint that Dean found both fascinating and strangely familiar.  

“So it seems a little early for dinner, what would you think of stopping by my apartment?  I know a great french place around the corner from there.”

“Yes, Dean, I would love to go home with you.”

“You make it sound so dirty.”  Dean laughed.

“That wasn’t my intention.”  He sounded defensive.  

That was the thing about Cas’s voice, Dean thought as he started up the car, it wasn’t robotic.  True, it was usually controlled and even, but he had moments of extreme earnestness, as well as a kind of deadpan humor.  And Dean had never seen him mad, but he had the sense that Cas would be terrifying when angry, like there was some unfathomable power just beneath the surface.  He felt big sometimes, like he took up a whole room just by standing in it.  

“This is where you live?”  Cas stood in the doorway of the spacious apartment.

The place was open, sparsely furnished and tidy.  There was a wall sized window on one side, a flat screen TV, a leather couch.  Luxury without excess.  Simple and spartan.

“Come in, what are you waiting for?”  Dean gestured that Cas should follow him through to the kitchen.  “Sit.” He offered one of the stools by the marble-topped coffee bar.  Cas looked so out of place in the sterile cleanliness of Dean’s apartment.  Suddenly he seemed rumpled and untidy in comparison.  

“Sorry,” said Dean, “it’s been awhile since since I’ve had anybody over.  Here, I’ll get you something to drink.”  Dean opened the fridge and reemerged bearing two cans of mineral water one of which he tossed to Cas, who caught it in an amazing show of reflexes.  

“Thank you.”  He said, popping it open with a hiss and a fizz.

“Hey, I’m sorry this isn’t exactly the ritz.  We can head out soon, if you want.”  

“Please, Dean, don’t apologize.  It’s already enough for me just to have this time with you.”

Dean was speechless for several seconds.  Cas did not speak much.  He communicated a great deal with his eyes, and the line of his mouth.  The few words he spoke usually carried enough weight to make up for superfluous sentences.  This time though, Castiel, that enigma, that walking question mark and spoken two full sentences to him and been genuinely romantic.  

Instead of actually communicating any one of the emotions those two sentences had triggered, Dean just smiled, and leaned over the coffee bar to kiss Cas.  It was a long kiss, deep and soft.  

“Why don’t we just stay in today?”  Dean said softly.  “I’ll make us something nice.”

“Dean,” Cas squinted up at him, “you cook?”

Dean was a little taken aback by the unnecessary surprise in the other man’s voice.  “And damn well too.”  He said.  “I’ll see what we have in the fridge.”

Dinner was not an especially classy occasion.  Dean found the makings for a spinach salad, completed with dried cranberries and bleu cheese.  Yes, he knew it was high in fat, but damn it, there had to be some exceptions!  Cas ate little but swore up and down that it was delicious.  

Dean grinned, “I would have made dessert but I’m still at least trying to diet.”

“Why?”  This accompanied by a squint.  “You’re in peak physical condition for a man of your age and height.”

“You have a way of taking compliments and turning them into diagnoses, you know that?”

“I meant it to be complimentary.”

“I know.”  Dean rested an elbow on the table and his chin on his upraised fist.  The low light in the living/dining room softened the harder lines of Cas’s and leant strange shadows to the hollows there.  Suddenly he did not look the part of a secretary.  He looked like a homeless vet, someone who had seen too much and and felt too much, whom sadness or tiredness had aged before time could.  He looked lost and adrift and almost hopeless.  

“Are you okay, Cas?”  Dean couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes.  I’m happy.  I-”  he looked down at his almost full plate.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.”

Again Dean was taken aback by the sudden romantic turn.  And it was funny because he would never say something like that to someone whom he had only known for a week, someone who he was only on a second date with, and yet, and yet at the same time, he felt the same.  Like he was waking up for the first time, like a truth he had never been told but had found out  on his own.  It wasn’t quite happiness, there was an edge of tragedy, and a suggestion of more things he did not know.  It was possible, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it, that he was not just falling for Castiel but falling in love with them.  

“Damn it, Cas.”  He muttered.

“What?”

Dean sighed.  “I don’t know, it’s… weird.”  

He was met by a quizzical squint.  

“This is going to sound crazy but this -us- it’s starting to feel really… real.”

A frown flickered over Cas’s face. “Yes it does.”

“Are we moving too fast?”  Dean asked in an unusual bout of anxiety.  

“Not in my opinion.”  The crease in Cas’s brow deepened.  “Is that a concern of yours, Dean?”

“No,” Dean smiled again, “but tell me, if I were, say, to take you over to the couch and lay you down and kiss you, would that be too fast?”

Cas started a little, then his face settled into a kind of soldierly anticipation.  “I would like that.”  He said.  

Dean pushed back from the table and took Castiel by the hand.  Once he had led the other man to the couch, he laid down suddenly, pulling him down too.  Cas propped himself up on one arm above Dean, the intensity of his gaze more physical than his own weight.

And Dean couldn’t help it, Cas seemed suddenly irresistible.  He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a kiss.  But suddenly he was not in control, Cas was.  Leading with his lips, his tongue, a force of nature, and Dean was lost, taken up by lust or love, he didn’t know which.  And Cas left Dean’s mouth and was trailing his own, soft-lipped along Dean’s jaw, his neck, and Dean moaned, long and soft and dug his fingers, which were clutching the other man’s back for dear life, further into the mess of cheap fabric that was his too-big shirt.

“Dean,” Cas sighed into his ear.  “Dean, I love you.”

“I think I love you too.”  Between the softness of the kisses to his jaw, and the pressure he felt against his lower abdomen where Cas straddled him, he was finding it hard to pull words out of the air.  

“Are you truly happy, Dean?”

“So happy.”  Dean’s hands slid further down Cas’s back, to where his shirt met the waist of his pants.  He let his fingers probe further, finding the jagged ridge of his hip bone, the soft skin beyond that led him, guided toward-

“Stop.”

Dean obeyed.  “What is it?”

“Is this really what you want, Dean?”

“Yes, God yes!  Is it… what you want?”

“Angels have fallen for less.”  It was an odd thing to say.

“Then heaven’s missing out.”

“Yes, yes, this is what I want.  This is all I want.”  Then softer, “I knew from the moment I laid my hand on you in hell,” he shifted his hand to a place on Dean’s upper arm.  There was another moment of almost deja vu.  “I knew you would be the one.  I knew you would be the one to make a rebel of me.”

“What?”  Dean was having trouble following sentences.

“Nothing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to disappoint you, this chapter didn't manage to turn into porn. I'm afraid there will be another two chapters before this story earns its rating.


	3. Chapter 3

Exactly when he rose to get a condom, when they moved from the couch to the bed, when his clothes and Cas’s clothes ended up scattered across the floor, when he regained normal breathing under the cool shower, Dean did not remember.  He knew it must have been late when he laid back down beside Cas between the sheets that seemed suddenly cool and clean against his still burning skin.  He fell asleep lying against the other man, lulled by his steady breathing and the reassuring firmness of his back.  

He awoke slowly the next morning.  He had turned in his sleep and it was not until he stretched out his arm and felt Castiel’s warm body beside him that he allowed himself to release the breath he did not know he had been holding.  

“I had a crazy dream last night" he murmured, rolling over to face Cas and running a hand along the contours of Castiel’s surprisingly well formed chest.  “You were this, angel of the lord, with all these weird powers and stuff.”  Cas’s face had taken on that familiar, rather pained look.  “And I was this -I don’t know- badass monster hunter or something.  And you saved me from this guy, this, demon thing.  Or, you tried to save me but then you were about to die, or go back to heaven or something and then -I don’t know- I woke up.”

“Do you have dreams like that often?”

“What?  No!  Nothing like that.  You’re making me sound like that tech support guy- Sam something.”

“Was it a pleasant dream?”  Cas still did not look at him directly.  

“No it was -I don’t know- stressful.  Okay,” Dean sat up, “I need coffee if I’m going to start making sense.  You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

In the daylight it was suddenly awkward to stand naked in front of Cas.  Through some understanding or maybe similar embarrassment, Cas looked down until Dean pulled on boxers and a stanford t-shirt.  

He left the door open as he went through to the kitchen.  He was almost out of coffee.  He made a mental note to make a starbucks run later.  He was still running through last night in his head.  It was easily the best sex he had had in his life.  Not that he had a lot of sex.  And he hadn’t hooked up with someone on a first date since -well- since college!  But with Cas it wasn’t just sex, it was -and he hated to use the term, it just sounded so phony- lovemaking.  He was different, Dean didn’t know how, or why, he just was.

The coffee was beginning to gurgle into the pot when Cas emerged from the bedroom, shirt unbuttoned but otherwise dressed.  And Dean froze.  Cas stood before him, looking as he always did, hair tousled, blue eyes wide.  He was innocence incarnate, and yesterday Dean would have chalked that up to Cas being Cas, awkward and implicitly innocent.  And yet this man was the same one who, just last night, had reduced him to a quivering heap, numb with pleasure, moaning again and again the one word that still made sense.  Cas, Cas, Cas…

“Dean,” another squint, “are you alright?”

“What?  Yeah, I’m fine.  You just look… amazing.  Really.”

The other man looked away, sitting down at the coffee bar.  “Dean…”

“And last night, it was good, right?”

Castiel buttoned up his shirt, “It was perfect, Dean. It was unlike anything I have experienced before.”

Dean grinned, “Was this your first time, or am I just that good?”

“This was my first such experience.”  Cas stated blandly.  

“Well don’t flatter me.”  Dean turned to the coffee pot, which had finished its gurgling.  He poured himself a steaming mug, finished it with sugar and skim milk.  “You sure don’t want some?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

As Dean sat his mug down on the coffee bar, he leaned over it and pressed his lips to Cas’s.  The desperate, lust ridden kisses of the night before had been softened by the daylight.  

“I love you Dean.”  It sounded so much more real in the cold light and crisp air of morning.

“I love you too.”  

For a while he was content to sit in silence, to sip his coffee while Cas stared off into space.  But there was something in the back of his mind, prodding him, that would not let him rest.  

“Hey, Cas?”  He asked at last.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been worried about you lately.”

“Why would you be worried?”  It seemed as if Cas’s poker face slipped for a moment.

“I don’t know, after everything with you and Adler… and after what he said yesterday-”

“What did he say yesterday?”

“He said -I don’t know- it’s not a big deal, he just sounded like he had it in for you.  In a creepy, not-normal kind of way.”

Cas just looked down at the marble surface of the coffee bar.

“Hey,” Dean said, “would you tell me what you and Adler talked about that time?”

“Dean, I can’t.”  Cas shifted uncomfortably.  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“If you were in trouble,” Dean insisted, “if someone was trying to hurt you, you know it’s okay to tell me.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”  But there was no eye contact.  

Dean gave up with a shrug.  “Whatever.  Hey, you want breakfast?”

“No, I’m alright.”

“Okay.”  Dean rose and got himself a serving size carton of greek yogurt from the fridge.

“Dean, I should go.  I have work to be done.”

“Okay, if you want.  But it’s a saturday, you could hang around a little longer before you get back to work.”

“I can’t.”  There was a sadness in his eyes, deeper and stranger than should ever be in human features.  But it was gone so quickly, Dean could almost believe he’d imagined it.

  “Then I’ll walk you down.”  He laid aside his breakfast.

He walked with Cas down the hall to the elevator and took it with him to the lobby.  Once there, he stood opposite the other man for a long moment, examining his face, that strange cryptic face.

“Cas,” he said at last, placing a hand on each of Cas’s shoulders, “You keep asking if I’m happy.  I’ll tell you now, this, my life, my job, and you, especially you, make me so happy.  I love you, Cas.”

“I… love you too, Dean.”  Why was there still that note of incredulity?  “Goodbye.  I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Call me before then, okay?”  

“Okay.”  Cas waved and left through the great glass doors.  Then Dean blinked and he was gone.

Back in his apartment, Dean changed into his running clothes.  A long jog was just what he needed to clear his head.  And hey, he could swing by starbucks on his way home.  Nothing cleared his head like a good run.

And it was true.  Between the rhythmic smacking of his sneakers on the concrete and the pleasantly boring banter of his Planet Money podcast, his anxieties were soon gone altogether.  

An empty head was a happy one, as far as Dean was concerned.  Love and worry and fear, all gave way to rhythm and heavy breathing.  He ran six miles that day, much more than he had in a long time.  By the time he stopped at Starbucks, panting lightly, he had had his few hours of peace, but it was not meant to last.  It seemed as if the moment he stopped moving it all came back.

If it really was nothing, if everything was normal, then Cas would tell him, right?  There would be nothing to hide.  But why would there be anything to hide?  Really, things like this, secrets and threats, those didn’t happen to people like him.  Normal people, boring people.

He walked home with his coffee.  By this point the it was all he could do to tell himself it was probably all in his head.  It was silly.  It was stupid.  Cas was fine, would be fine.  He took his phone out of his pocket, looked at it.  He finally gave in as he left the elevator on his floor.  He had dialed Cas’s number and was listening to the phone ring by the time he reached his door.  

“Dean, what do you need?”  The familiar voice over the phone was gruff and abrupt, but there was some other noise in the background, a muffled grunting.

“Cas, hey.  I just… need to talk.  Is this a bad time?”

“No.  It’s not.  I’m free to talk.”  Was that screaming?  No, no, whatever it was it cut off quickly.  Probably just a TV or something.

“Good, that’s good.”  Dean sat down on the couch, kicking off his running shoes, one foot at a time.

“What is it you want to talk about, Dean?”

“Look, I’m sorry.  I know you said you didn’t want to talk about the thing with Adler-”

“Dean, I can’t.”

“Please, I just need you to give me some peace of mind.”

“I could not give you peace of mind if I told you.”

“Then tell me so I can help you.”  Dean swallowed the fear that that jumped into his throat.

“You can’t help Dean.  Please, don’t push me.”

“Please, Cas, I need you to trust me.  I love you.  I need you to tell me what’s going on.  I need you to to believe in me.”

“I do.  I trust you, I always have, Dean.  But I can’t tell you what you need to hear.  I protect you first, I confide in you second.  I’m sorry Dean.”

“Protect me- what?  What is this even about?  Who are you protecting me from?  Cas?”

“I can’t tell you Dean, I’m sorry.  And you can’t do this.  You can’t keep asking questions.  I can’t tell you anything.  I’m sorry.”

“Cas-”

“I’m sorry.  I can’t.  Goodbye Dean.”

“Wait-”

But it was too late.  The line was dead.  Cas was gone.

“Damn it!”  Dean muttered.  “God fucking damn it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was all plot, and it still hasn't lived up to it's rating (sorry!) and I'm not saying the next chapter will be mostly porn but...  
> Also, please, give me feedback! I'm still very new at this, and I need all the comments I can get/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which this story finally earns it's rating.

He didn’t so much fall asleep as trip over it.  Stumbled into it in a drunken stupor.  That’s right.  He cracked, the stress of the day was too much, and so yes, he did open a bottle of wine, jesus, he deserved it didn’t he?  Then he drank a glass, okay, maybe more like a bottle.  He sat down on the couch, glass in hand, and turned on CNBC, financial news, nice and boring.  He tried to push his worries away, and it worked, sort of.  They forced themselves up every once in awhile.

The monotone of the anchor man was cut off in favor of commercials.  What if something happened to Cas?  It was an ad for mattresses.  What if something happened to him?  There was a woman who laid awake, uncomfortable and unable to sleep.  What if someone was after Cas?  The woman in the ad was holding up a bottle of pills, smiling. What if he couldn’t do anything to help him?  Now the woman was laying down with a smile on her face.  What was going on?  Her eyelids were drooping.  Was it bad that he felt as if he could let Cas drag him down too?  

Dean was sitting on a snowy bluff, cold in his boxers, though this had to be a dream.  Cas was beside him, still in his suit and trench coat.  It was a dream, but he even smelled the same.

“Dean,” the man looked at him, eyes pleading, “I’m so sorry.  I never wanted to keep things from you.”

Dean laughed a little, despite himself.  “Even in my dreams you’re a big bundle of secrets.  Calm down.  Come on, this is my dream, can’t we at least make it a good one?”

“If you still want me.”  Cas did nothing to resist Dean’s advance, his hands, stroking the hard lines of his face, but he did not respond either, there was none of the last night’s lust in his slumping form.  “You must hate me.”

“I couldn’t hate you,” Dean kissed Castiel’s mouth, “not if I tried,” his jaw, “not if you tried to make me.”  His neck.  

“Dean,” Cas sighed, at last leaning into Dean with that good old want.  “You should hate me.”

“But I love you.  I still love you, what are you going to do about that?”  He pushed Cas lightly and soon they were both lying in the snow.  Dean was on top of Cas but if things were going to go the way he planned, it might not stay that way.  “Where is this place anyway?”

“Greenland.”  Cas whispered into Dean’s collar bone.  “It’s secluded.”

“Oh, Greenland, that’s normal.  I might get frostbite you know, out here in nothing but boxers.”

“I assure you, we won’t lack for physical activity to keep us warm.  You won't get frostbite.”

“You sure know how to talk dirty, Cas.  Really, you could win hearts with a speech like that.”

And sure enough, Cas pushed him over, asserted the strange dominance that hid behind those wide, blue eyes.  His lips were level with Dean’s heaving stomach, his hands slipping beneath the waistband of Dean’s boxers.

“You don’t remember, you wouldn’t,” Cas’s hands, cool from the snow, gripped Dean’s cock, firmly but gently.  “When I saved you from hell.”  His hand worked with a steady rhythm, from the base of Dean’s hardening length, to the head. His fingers brushing over it, just enough to send shivers up Dean’s spine.  

“Cas,” Dean moaned, “oh, God, Cas, Cas…”

“He’s hidden it all,” up, “all that I’ve done for you,” down, “all that I’ve done too you,” up, there was a slight twist with his wrist and Dean nearly choked.  “I loved you from the beginning,” down, “my superiors knew,” up, the little twist again, “they wouldn’t let me see you alone,” down, “but you never did know,” up, “you never would have if it weren’t for this,” down, “I wanted to tell you,” up.

“Cas, Cas, God, Cas” Dean moaned, arching his back, thrusting his hips against Cas’s hand.  He was way too far gone to hear what the other man was saying, but the steady motion of his hand, the low, almost growling quality of his voice, lulled him into pleasure like holy ecstasy.  

“What would you have done if I’d told you?” Down.  “You would have told me to go away,” up, “to never come back,” down, “this world isn’t real,” up, “but it’s the only way we’d ever have a chance.”  And there were no more words, because Cas’s mouth was engaged in the business his hands had given up.  

“Cas,” Dean entangled his fingers in the other man’s dark hair, gently, but forcefully demanding more.  “Cas, God, you’re so good.  Fuck.”  If he were in possession of a cohesive train of thought, he might have wondered at the fact that this was the same man whom he had worried about all day, even began to distrust, this same man was taking Dean’s length in stride, accomplishing feats with his tongue…

“Cas, I can’t... I need… I’m... Cas… oh!”  Uttering the last syllable as a high cry, Dean came.  He expected Cas to gasp or leap away, or react at all, but there was nothing like that.  Cas looked up at Dean, straight into his eyes as he swallowed, a little of the sticky fluid lingering on his chin.

For a long moment Dean just lay on his back in the snow, feeling the burning cold against his bare skin.  Cas fell back on his knees and watched him intently.  

“Jesus, Cas, you’re amazing, you know that?”  He said at last.  There was that look on Cas’s face again, embodying innocence, even while come dripped from his bottom lip.

“Thank you Dean.  I want to make you happy.  Are you happy, Dean?”

“You need to stop asking that.  Yes.  I’m happy, I’m so happy.”

“I love you.”  Cas said, leaning in for a hungry open mouthed kiss.  

Dean tasted himself on the other man’s tongue.

“I love you too.  Don’t you forget that.  Don’t you go asking me to hate you.”

“I wish there was a better way Dean, I wish we could have a life together, but we can’t.  We both have our destinies laid out for us.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but,” Dean slid the raincoat and the suit jacket from Cas’s shoulders.  “Let’s not make this serious.  I think I owe you a little something.”  He slipped his hand beneath the fabric of Cas’s shirt, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.

“Wait.”  The urgency in his voice stopped Dean cold.  “I have to tell you something before we go on.”

“What is it?”  Dean withdrew his hand and settled onto his knees in front of Cas.

“I owe you an explanation.  But I can’t give you one, not yet.  But I can warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Your destiny cannot be put off much longer, Zachariah’s trick has to stop.  I can’t stop it Dean, only he can, and he won’t until you pass his test.  Whatever it is, you have to pass, you have to end this.”

“What test?  What kind of test?”  Dean’s head was still spinning from the pleasure of a few minutes ago, how was he supposed to wrap his mind around these issues that sounded so life and death?

“I don’t know.  But you must be on your guard.  I’ll be there for you but you need to pass this on your own.  You need to find Sam and be careful.  Promise me you’ll be careful.”  Cas laid a hand on Dean’s cheek.  Even after all he had done with that hand it was still cool as the snow.

“I will, I will,” Dean leaned into Cas’s palm.  “Who’s Sam?”

“Oh, Dean, you’ll remember soon enough.”  He sounded so sad, nostalgic.

“Fuck, Cas.  Please, this is all just too weird.  I’ll be careful, I promise.  But I’m tired of all this worrying, please, can we just let it go for a little bit?  Just, forget about it for a few more minutes?”  He was leaning into Cas again.  

“I’m sorry to put you through this, Dean.  I’m sorry to worry you.  But I do think we can afford to forget for a little while longer.”

Cas met Dean’s mouth at last, kissing away his fears with soft lips.  This could still be  good dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a little, smutty, intermission before the shit really hits the fan. Not quite porn without plot, but no where near as crazy as things are going to get.


	5. Chapter 5

            Dean awoke the next morning, it was morning according to the clock, though not the ink dark sky or the silence of the street outside, happy though disoriented.  His boxers were a sticky mess.  When he rose to move from the couch to his bed, he felt something crinkle in his hand.  Paper?  He lifted it close to his face, squinting through the dark at what was indeed a crumpled piece white paper.  Had he fallen asleep holding it?  No.  No, he was sure it hadn’t been there when he drifted off.

            Back in the bedroom he turned on the lamp and red the scrap of paper.  _Sam_ it read, in cramped, oddly archaic handwriting, followed by an address.  He definitely hadn’t fallen asleep holding this.  Vaguely, he remembered that Sam was important, that Cas had mentioned him sometime in the course of his dream.  Strange.

            At last he gave up staring at the thing and laid it on his bedside table to deal with later.  Cas did not come to him in his dream again, though he was in it.  It was another absurd demon hunting fantasy.  Cas was an angel again.  Dean wouldn’t remember the specifics in the morning.

            Somehow, Sunday did not bring the same anxieties as Saturday had.  If anything, he was worried by how unconcerned he was.  Was this just another inexplicable thing about his relationship with Cas?  Like the confessions of love and the hookup, things moved along far more quickly than they should.  It was as if they had already known each other, though again, that was impossible. 

            Not that he was free from worry.  It was just that now he was worried _for_ Cas, instead of being worried _about_ him.  There was a difference. 

Sunday passed without incident, Dean texted Cas to say he was sorry about interrogating him over the phone yesterday.  He could have his secrets and Dean would understand.  _Just y’know, be careful_.  He finished his message.

            Then it was Monday, and if he had known how the day would end, he would have called in sick.

            He awoke, as usual, to his alarm at six sharp.  He steamed himself a late, only today he caved and used the half and half he had bought by accident, instead of the skim milk that he knew he ought to use.  Sometimes he indulged, okay?

            The first weird thing in the series of weird that would culminate in everything going to shit, happened in the elevator.  Three days ago, Dean thought the last place he would want to be was alone in an elevator with Tech-support guy.  Now it seemed like his best option.

            “Hey,” Dean said. 

            “Hey, uh, no offence but sine when are you talking to me?”  The man was so tall his head nearly touched the top of the elevator.  Sam Wesson.  Also known as the big friendly giant’s grumpier understudy.

            “Yeah, well…”  He shifted uncomfortably. 

            “So what do you want anyway?”

            “Well, you’re the one who said there was something fishy going on here, something… not normal.”

            “Yeah, and you called me crazy.”

            “Yeah, well it sounded crazy.  Ghosts and shit, how was  I supposed to react?  Anyway, much as it kills me to say it, I think… I think you might be right.  About some of it.”

            “Oh.  Oh… Wait… What?”  Sam looked at him, utterly confused.  “About the ghost thing?”

            “About something not being right.  Look… don’t get too excited.  It’s just that things are getting weird.”

            “Okay, now you sound like the crazy one.”

            “Shut up.”

            “Okay, so what do you think is so weird then?”

            Just then the doors slid open with a ding.

            “My floor.”  Said Sam with a shrug.  “But hey, hope things work out.”

            “Yeah.”  Dean said, wondering why he thought this was a good idea.

            He rode solo up to the twenty-second floor.  Cas was waiting for him when he reached his office.  He was looking down at the schedule book, as always, looking with a kind of strange determination.

            “Hey,” he said, and Cas looked up.

            “Hello, Dean.”  The man looked up and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.  He looked so tired.  Again, he had that aged-beyond-his-years dimness in his eye.

            “You okay, man?”  Dean asked, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

            “Yes.  I’m quite well.  Did you… have a good weekend?”

            “Yeah, yeah it was fine.  You?”

            “Alright.  I’m… sorry about the phone call.  I was too short with you.”

            “No.  No, it’s fine.  Look, I trust you man; keep your secrets.  But if anything was really wrong, you’d tell me right?”

            “Of course.”

            “Awesome.  So, what’s the schedule for today, huh?”

            “You’ve got a meeting at nine and a call with the east coast branch vice president.”

            “Right.  Cool, thanks man.”

            “Of course.”

            “Okay, well I’m going in.  See you at my lunch break?”

            “Yes, yes of course.”

            “Great.  See you later.”

Dean almost mentioned the dream he’d had Saturday night, almost thanked him for it, as if any of it were real.  As he walked away something on the collar of Cas’s raincoat caught his eye.  Blood?  No.  No, now he was just seeing things.

            The meeting went well.  Clive, from market research presented his findings with some very well executed graphs, including a particularly impressive pie chart, which, if relabeled, could be used to convince anyone of practically anything.  If Clive’s team was as good as his pie charts, this quarter was looking up, and Dean could practically feel the big things coming his way.

            Mr. Adler was not at the meeting.  All the better because seeing him would probably bring back all the anxieties which were still miraculously being held at bay.  He had never disliked his boss before, never feared him, at least never feared him without respecting him more.  So he was glad that Mr. Adler did not come in with his wide smile and his promises of _big things_ to come. 

            Lunch came around in its own sweet time.  Dean unpacked a tinfoil swaddled chicken wrap.  It was going to be a long day.

            “Dean?”  Cas stood in the doorway.

            “Cas!  Hey, come in.”  Cas took the seat across from him.  It seemed so strange, having the desk between them.  “Having a good day?”

            “It’s alright.”  He sounded noncommittal.

            “It feels like it’s been too long since we were alone in a room together.”

            “It’s only been a day.”

            “Two days.”  Dean corrected him.  He had to remind himself that his dream didn’t count.  Obviously, Cas wasn’t really there.

            “Yes.”  Cas looked down and Dean internally chided himself.  Looking at him now, the soft, straight mouth, the tousled hair, how could he have mistrusted him, even a little.  Cas exuded goodness.  Whatever secrets he kept, he couldn’t mean Dean any harm.  Though he looked a little droopier than usual, like he hadn’t slept.

            “You okay?”  He asked, “You look a little tired.”

            “I’m fine, Dean.”

            “You sure?  ‘Cause you look a little the worse for wear.”

            “Really I’m fine.” 

            “Come here,” Dean gestured for Cas to come around the desk.  When he was there, Dean stood up and kissed him.  Long and gentle, and he felt the other man get a little loser in his arms.  Dean sat down, and Cas sank into his lap with a sigh.

            “I’ve been busy.  So busy.”  He said.  “Dean, I’m sorry.” 

            “What are you apologizing for?”

            “Everything.”  Cas leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry.”

            “Come on Cas, don’t.  I told you, it’s okay.  I’m just a little worried about you.  I just want you to be okay.”

            “Don’t worry about me.  You don’t need to worry about me.”

            “Then,” Dean said, kissing Cas again, “Stop giving me reasons to worry.”

            “Dean,” Cas opened his mouth for another kiss but just then his earpiece bleeped.

            “Hello,” he said, switching from the low whisper he had been using to his usual gruff monotone.  “You’ve reached the office of Dean Smith.”  Dean drew his finger across his throat vigorously.  Cas squinted as if he didn’t understand the gesture.  _I’m not here_.  He mouthed.  Cas nodded.  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid Mr. Smith is not available right now, can I take a message?”  He paused.  “Oh.  Yes.  Yes, I’ll let him know.  Yes, thank you.  Goodbye.”

            Dean grinned, “You’re turning me into a slacker you know that, Cas?”

            “I’m sorry, Dean.”

            “Oh, stop apologizing!”  And Dean pulled him in, and entangled his fingers in his hair.

            Dean didn’t get around to eating his lunch.  His wrap lay woefully neglected and still in its tinfoil.  It was just after that, while he was waiting for his call, that he was flicking through account records.  It was really just a small mistake.  He would later curse himself for even bothering to call the guy up.  Couldn’t he have let it slide?  But stupidly, he did call him up.  _Ian_.  Ian from Tech Support.

            If he’d know that Ian would react so badly to his pointing out a little mistake, if he’d known what would happen when he followed him into the bathroom…

            He’d never seen someone die before.  He’d never seen that much blood at one time.  It wasn’t bright red, it was dark, and oozing and it spread slowly across the white tiled floor.  He couldn’t do anything.  He couldn’t move.  He watched Ian die.  He felt the hot flecks of blood on his face.  He watched that thick, dark blood spread.  He screamed, or, he though he screamed.  Somehow his voice had become disconnected from his brain.  His mouth was open, he was pushing air out, but if he was screaming, he couldn’t tell. 

            Then people ran in. Someone called 911 and pretty soon there were paramedics and cops.  A trauma blanket was wrapped around his shoulders.  A police man was asking him what Ian said, what Ian had done.  Dean answered in a voice that still didn’t seem like his own.  _No, no, he didn’t know Ian_.  _No, he didn’t know what could have driven him to suicide_.  Without really realizing it, Dean had been taken to the police station.  _Was he a suspect?  No.  No, he wasn’t_. 

            He sat in the station for a while, unable to readjust.  He stared at his hands, he stared at his shoes.  He breathed as deeply and slowly as he could.

            “Mr. Smith?”  Dean started.  A police woman stood at the door to the other room.  “There’s someone here to pick you up.  A Mr. Novak.”

            “Oh, oh thanks!”  Dean said, rising and following her out into the front room where, sure enough, Cas was waiting for him.

            “We’ll call you with some follow up questions soon, okay.”

            “Okay, thanks.”

            As soon as he was outside with Cas, he wrapped his arms around him.  He held him as close as he possibly could.

            “Oh, God, Cas.”  He whispered, his lips brushing the other man’s forehead.

            “Dean, are you alright?”

            “Honestly, not at all.  That man… I saw him die, I saw it, Cas.  Fucking hell.”

            Cas momentarily looked surprised, then a kind of sad sympathy took its place.

            “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Dean.  It must have been upsetting, I can’t imagine.”

            “Could you… come over?  I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

            “Of course.  Of course.”

            “`Fuck,” Dean muttered as they walked away from the station, “I came over with the cops, my car’s still at the office.”

            “What should we do?”  Cas asked.

            “We’re pretty close to my apartment.  We can walk.  I’ll –I don’t know- take the bus tomorrow and get it.”

            It really was only a few blocks to the apartment building, but it was dark as hell and Dean was on edge.  When at last they reached his door, Dean led Cas inside and sat beside him on the couch. 

            “Dean, do you want something to drink?”

            “Actually, that sounds amazing.  There’s a bottle of white in the fridge, the emergency backup bottle.  Could you pour me a glass?  You can have some too if you want.”

            Cas rose and returned with a glass, filled a little too full, but Dean accepted it gladly nonetheless. 

            “Thanks, Cas.  Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

            “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay.”

            “I’ll get past this, eventually.  Right now, I don’t know, I’m just shook up.”

            “Do you want to discuss it?”

            “No.  I don’t even know what to say about it.  I saw a man die.  Jesus Christ!  It’s just… stuff like that isn’t supposed to happen to people like you and me.”

            “Meaning?”

            “Normal people.  People with normal lives, they aren’t supposed to se people die that’s not how it’s supposed to work!”  Dean realized he was shouting and stopped himself.

            “I’m so sorry, Dean.  I am.”

            “I know.  I know, Cas, thank you.”  He took another indelicately large swig of wine and sat the glass down on the coffee table.  “Thanks for being here for me.”

            “That’s what lovers do isn’t it?”

            “Lovers?”  Dean sat up a little.  “Sounds archaic doesn’t it?”

            “I suppose.”

            Dean snuggled closer.  “But I like it, boyfriends is a little kid-ish anyway.”

            “Dean,” Cas said softly, “I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”

            “I need you,” Dean said, “so stay.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, the plot came back! And there is so much more to come. Please, please comment, feedback would be lovely!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT another chapter of pure smut! The porn precedes lots and lots of plot, so be warned.

            The morning, heralded by the alarm, found Dean beside Cas, relieved to find him there. He had had nightmares that night.  Demons and hell hounds and fire.  Must be the stress of seeing that man die, it was bound to affect him.  He opened his eyes, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

            “Cas,” he moaned, “Cas, I- I need- hold me.”  He ended meekly.

            Castiel obeyed, pulling Dean to him, the skin of his chest pleasantly cool against Dean’s burning cheek.  “What’s wrong?”  He asked softly.

            “Just… just a bad dream.  Just a nightmare.  I’m okay.”

            “What did you dream about?”  He pushed Dean’s hair back from his forehead with gentle fingers.

            “Hell.”  Dean whispered, his voice uneven.

            “I’m so sorry Dean.  I’m sorry.” 

            “It’s fine.  I… I need a shower.”  Dean pulled himself up.  Slowly, he slid his feet onto the floor and stood.  “You wanna… hop in too?”

            “Oh,” Cas started a little, “alright.”

            Dean smiled, despite his nerves, and slipped out of his boxers on his way to the white-tiled bathroom.  The shower was warm and cleansing.  He felt the sweat rinse away beneath the spray. 

            Cas stepped in behind him, sighing a little as the water hit him.  Dean turned around, taking in Cas’s perfect body, lean and muscled, the base of his neck, the shape of his hips, the plane of his stomach, the length of his cock…

            “You look great.”  He said simply.

            “Thank you Dean, you… I always found you very attractive.”

            With a chuckle, Dean lifted Cas’s drooping chin with his hand and kissed him.  “Thank you,” he murmured, “for last night.  I really needed you there.”

            “I’m glad I could help.  Do you… feel better?”

            Dean pulled Cas against him, the man’s slick body flush against him, still cool even in the warm water.  He felt Cas harden a little against his leg.

            “World’s better.”

            “You’re still not clean.”  Cas remarked, mater-of-fact as always.  “I’ll wash you.”

            He squeezed a little body-wash into his hands and began to rub it into Dean’s shoulders, a slow massage that moved down the uneven slope of his back, Cas’s hands slid beneath his arms, rubbing his chest, his stomach.

            Dean groaned.  “Cas… not now.  Not right before work.”

            The hands slid back up again, out to his thighs, over his ass.  He left a trail of soap bubbles over Dean’s skin.

            “There,” Cas said, finally taking his hands away.

            “Clean enough?”  Dean asked playfully.

            “Yes.  Now you’re presentable. “ 

            “The fact that you can say that with a straight face!”  Dean laughed, climbing out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist.  Cas followed, though for lack of a towel, he was left standing dripping and naked in the center of the room.  Dean laughed.  He looked like a renaissance statue, standing there like marble.

            They took the bus to work together that morning.  Dean couldn’t remember the last time he took the bus.  Remembering why he didn’t have his car, Dean felt the tenseness return to his shoulders with the memories of the blood and the death.  Dean resolved, even before he got off the bus, to talk to Sam.  Sam was right about ghosts.  Mother fucker!  He had decided not to tell Cas about the strange reflection he had seen in that black bathroom door, that reflection which must have been a hallucination, though he knew it wasn’t.

            When they got to the 22nd floor, Dean made sure he had a clear schedule that morning.  People were surprised to see him back at work.

            _“Are you okay?”  “Are you sure you don’t just want a day off?”  “We’d all understand if you wanted to go home.”_

            But Dean said he would be okay, no, no, he didn’t need time off, he just needed a routine, work would be good for him, really, it would.

            Still, he had no meetings that day, no calls.  He waited a few hours before calling downstairs for Sam.  He felt like a principal, calling a student up to his office.  But he didn’t think a principle was ever this nervous to see a student.  Were the tables turning?  Was he the crazy one now?

            Outside he heard Sam’s footfalls.  They paused.

            “Yes?”  That was Cas’s voice.

            “Sorry, do I know you?”

            “Unlikely.”

            “No, but really…”

            “Hey,” Dean poked his head around the door.  “He’s taken!”

            “That wasn’t what I… never mind.”  Sam came in, rolling his eyes.

            “Hey.”  Dean said, gesturing for Sam to take the seat across the desk from him.  “I guess you probably know why I called you?”

            “Ian?”

            “Yeah.  Okay, I know I sound crazy, I know.  But there is something weird going on, or maybe more than one weird thing, they might be connected, but I don’t know!”

            “Right, right, okay, slow down.  What did you see?”

            Dean swallowed his pride.  “I think, I think I saw a ghost.”

            “Oh.  Okay.  Don’t you think maybe it might have been-“

            “A hallucination?  Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?  No, no, I don’t think it was.”

            “Then,” Sam spoke quickly, “then do you think, all the suicides?”

            “Ghosts? “

            “Well maybe.”

            “So, what, ghosts were behind microwave guy too?”

            “You didn’t know him before,” Sam said, “He, he _changed_ before it happened.  I’m just saying.”  Dean said nothing.  “And what about you?”  He went on, “What was the weird stuff you started telling me about before?”

            Dean thought about his dream, about the blood on Cas’s coat, the phone call, Adler…

            “It’s… gonna sound crazy.”

            “Crazier than ghosts?”

            “Maybe?”

            “Well shoot, things can’t get much crazier than this.”

            Dean took a deep breath, “It’s my boyfrie- my secretary.  He’s been… acting weird.”

            “Weird how?”

            “Like, like someone’s trying to kill him or something.  First I heard Adler threaten him, like, intimidate and threaten him, then when I asked him about it later, he said it wasn’t safe to tell me, that there were things I wasn’t supposed to know, that it wasn’t safe for me to know…”

            “Jesus,” Sam muttered.  “Weird is kinda putting it lightly.”

            “Yeah.  So… ghosts or….”

            “Can ghosts do that?”

            “What, conspire to murder people?  I don’t know?”

            Sam frowned.  “Have you thought that maybe your secretary –Castiel, right, that’s his name?- might not be an angel himself?  I mean, what if there’s something going on with him?”

            “No!  I mean, Cas wouldn’t… no.”

            “Okay, okay.”  Sam held up his hands.  “How about we deal with this ghost thing first and see what happens.”

            “That sounds straight out of some shitty supernatural thriller.”

            “Shut up.  You’re the one who called me up here and said you saw a ghost.”

            Dean ignored him.  “So we’ve got to kill this ghost.  You have any idea how?”

            Sam shook his head.  “I’ll look into it.  Then…”

            “I’ve got to stay in late today anyway.  Come up here and we’ll come up with some kind of a plan.”

            “A plan to kill a ghost.”

            “Yeah, this can’t be real.”

            And with that, he and Sam parted for the day.  Dean leaned back in his seat.  Maybe he was overwhelmed by the sudden presence of supernatural beings in his life, maybe it was still the stress of yesterday’s really hard day, but his head was pounding.  He considered the bottle of Tylenol in his bag.  He could go home, call this whole thing with Sam off, he could sleep, maybe call Cas and ask him to stay over again. Nobody could blame him.

            But just as he was starting to like this idea more, Cas’s voice came over the phone.

            “Mr. Smith, Mr. Adler is here to see you.”

            “Send him in.”  Dean said.

            In came Mr. Adler, smiling too wide, as always.

            “Dean!”  His voice only made the headache worse.  “Good to see you back on the job!  That’s devotion right there, that’s the stuff that makes you _the_ stuff, if you know what I mean.”

            Dean didn’t.

            “How’re you doing back on the job?”

            “Well actually,”

            “Good, good!  And Castiel?  How’s he?”

            Dean had to fight the temptation to yell at him.

            “He’s fine.”

            “I’m so glad.  And I’m so glad you two are getting along.  And you know, if you need to take a day or two off, just to recover, that would be fine.”

            “Actually-“ Dean started again, but was cut off.

            “Anyway, you still good for that trip to San Francisco?  Your secretary is booking your hotel now.  Preferences?”

            “No, no, do whatever you want.”

            “Come on, Dean, this is your chance, are you sure you don’t have anything special you want?”

            Dean thought about it long and hard.  This San Francisco thing could be just what he needed. The big city, the new client, the hotel.  But there was one way to make it better.  “Cas,” he said, “I want Cas to come with me.”

            “Cas?  Castiel?  Your secretary?”  Adler’s eyes widened further, if that was possible. “Well, sure.  Not that you’ll need him there.  But if you want.  Whatever makes you happy and more ready for business.”

            Something about the way he said that made Dean uncomfortable.  Adler couldn’t know about them, could he?

            “Okay, so I’ll have Castiel book your hotel.  And I’ll tell him to get an extra room.”

            Dean nodded his thanks as his boss left.  He crossed the room and took his Tylenol, thinking about a few days in San Francisco with Cas.  It would be just what he needed to take his mind off all this supernatural bullshit.

            He told himself, again, that he could go home if he wanted to.  He could avoid all this weird now and keep a low profile until San Francisco, but try as he might to urge his feet out the door, they would not go.  He knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going anywhere until he dealt with this… this ghost thing.

            And so he waited as the hours crawled by, first four, then five then six.  His workload was light that day, everyone was too concerned to give him any real work.  He ended up passing most of the time reading.  For some reason, he’d been stashing a copy of _Paradise Lost_ on his shelf in the office.  He’d seen it lying in a box outside someone’s house, and it looked vintage and in pretty good condition, so he’d kept it.  It must have been years since he’d been assigned Milton.  Yes, not since high school, and the long, weary hours of analyzing every fucking line.  But this time, he found he could tolerate it.  The story of Satan’s fall from heaven, the pages upon pages describing hell, there was something about it.  It intrigued him, almost on a personal level.  Though it was crazy, the lines seemed to reach a part of him that remembered, that almost remembered…

            “Dean?”  Cas stood in the doorway, already in his coat.  “It’s five thirty, time for me to go.”

            “Okay,” Dean said, rising from his chair and kissing Cas lightly on the forehead.  “I’ll miss you.”

            “You should go home too, Dean.  You still look very tired.”

            “I’ll be fine, Cas.  I’ve still got some stuff to do.  I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And it was only then that it occurred to him that he might not.  If things went badly with Sam, there could be no tomorrow for Dean, no trip to San Francisco, no more Cas.

            “Goodbye Dean”  The man turned to leave.

            “Wait!”  Dean cried, catching him by the arm, possessed by the sudden urgency of his realization.  “I- I love you Cas. Do you understand?”

            He felt a shiver pass through Cas.  “Yes.  I understand.  And I love you to. Irrationally, inexplicably, infinitely.”

            “Alliteration, seriously?”

            “It was an attempt to be poetic.”

            Dean smiled, he hoped not too sadly, and kissed Cas again, this time on the mouth. 

            “Hey guys.”

            Dean let go of Cas and looked up suddenly to see Sam.

            “Hello Sam.”  Cas said, seemingly without embarrassment.  “I’ll leave you two alone now.”

            When Cas was gone, Sam said nothing but raised his eyebrows at Dean.

            “Shut up.”  Dean muttered.

            It was stupid to go in at all, but it was supider to go in uninformed.  Dean found some video about how to kill ghosts.  Like Mythbusters but dumber and with more guns.  Still, it seemed informative.  Figure out who it was, burn the remains, simple as that.  Right?

            Best part was, they didn’t even have to leave the building.  Dean swallowed as they took the elevator down to the fourteenth floor, the one Sam suspected, held the key to all this shit.  He had never been a brave kid, why start now?  But he had to do what his circumstances demanded, and that was kill a ghost. 

            “Scared?”  Sam said it like he wasn’t even phased himself.

            “Shut up.”

            “No, but really, this is kind of a big thing.  You nervous?”

            “Well, yeah.  I’m fucking terrified, is that weird to you?”

            “No, I’m kind of pissing myself too.”  Sam admitted.

            “I just… I had this big business trip planned, I don’t want to miss it and I-“

            “You’re afraid you’ll never see Cas again right?”

            “Dude, boundaries!” 

            “Look, I saw the way you two were together, look man, it’s cool, no judgment.  I- I hope we make it through this so you can see him again.”

            “How long were you standing there?”

            “Since the alliteration.”

            “Oh.”  Dean couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. 

            “It’s cool man.”

            The doors opened with an unceremonious _ping_.  The fourteenth floor hallway seemed poorly lit in comparison to the others.  The older floors always gave Dean the creeps.  He didn’t like the feeling of walking in the footsteps of people who were dead, of overlapping with them.

            “Here, room 1444.”  Sam tried the door and it gave weakly. 

            The two of them rifled through the clutter of the office-turned supply closet.  Nothing, no lifesaving object ready to yield up ghost DNA. 

            “Hey!” 

At the sound of the guard’s voice, Dean ducked behind a shelf.  Sam though, either too big or too slow, was caught in the open.

“It’s fine,” he said, “I work here.”

“Tell that to the cops.”

The man dragged Sam away, the larger man settling into a kind of begrudging compliance.  This left Dean alone.  In the dark.  In a haunted closet.  He felt like he was in the middle of a horror movie, the dumbass who you just know is going to be killed off because he’s too normal and too stupid for this kind of thing.  But nothing happened.  No ghost, not yet anyway.  Dean kept digging.  Sam had his phone; he’d let Dean know where he was and when he would get back up. 

It was a few more tense minutes before Dean remembered the gloves on the twenty-second floor.  It was with a certain amount of relief that he closed the door on the supply-closet.  Ghost or no ghost, that place freaked him the hell out. 

Sam called and said he was on his way.  He sounded panicked, his voice shook and when he told Dean to take the stairs, Dean didn’t ask why but he listened.  The stairs were good for him anyway, all eight agonizing flights of them.

There it was, the gallery, the wall and display cases devoted to the company’s history.   And the centerpiece of the whole thing, a pair of very old, black gloves.  That was it.  If anything still kept old man Sandover’s DNA, it was those gloves.  Now all they had to do was burn them.

Sam arrived, looking like hell.  His yellow polo shirt was splattered with dark blood, his face, though clean, was wild with fear.

“That’s a lot of blood.”  Was all Dean could muster.

“Yeah.”

Sam unpacked the iron crowbars, handing one to Dean.  Together, they smashed the glass of the case.  Every law-abiding bone in Dean’s body pleaded with him not to damage company property, but too late.

Dean barely even saw the old man before he was lifted up by some unseen force, and hurled against a wall as if he were as light as a ball of paper.  The moment his head hit the wall, things went fuzzy.  It hurt like hell but worse was the spinning.  It never looked like it hurt this much on TV.  But the thing was advancing on Sam.  It was grotesque, human in form but somehow _wrong_ , the old man’s face a mask of malignance. Dean wanted to help but couldn’t even get it together to sit up straight.  Somehow, Sam managed to grab the salt and save himself. Dean pulled himself up as best he could.

“Nice.”  He said, faintly. 

Then it was his turn to swing at the thing for Dean life, then both of them together.  It didn’t stay gone for long each time, flickering back in less than a second.

The second time the two of them were lifted up and thrown, Dean’s head smacked the wall so hard the world went dark.  He blinked dazedly at the looming, dark figure above him.  There was a dull buzzing, electrical sounding, accompanied by a low light.  Dean was paralyzed, he prepared himself for the quick pain of death, but nothing came.  When he opened his eyes again, the thing was glowing, light issuing from every orifice of it’s face.  For a second he thought Sam might have lit the gloves, but the strangled cry he heard from across the room debunked that theory.

No, it was something else, someone else, who was now standing where the ghost had been.

“Cas?”  He gasped in dazed disbelief.

“Oh, Dean.”  The familiar voice, though if possible, even sadder.  “I am sorry.”  The man reached forward to touch Dean’s forehead with two fingers, and the lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Queue dramatic cliff-hanger music!) Please leave feedback if you can, anything is appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

“I know what I saw.”  Sam insisted for the fourth time that night, “your boyfriend just poofed out of thin air and killed that ghost with his bare hands.  Then he tapped you on the head and poofed away again.”

            “How?”  Dean demanded, knowing that Sam could not answer, at least not with something he’d want to hear.  “How the hell do you explain that?”

            “Dean, man, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but Cas might be… you know…”

            “Not human?”

            “We’ve got to at least consider that.”

            Dean sighed.  “I know.” 

            They were still standing in the twenty-second floor lobby.  Dean rubbed his still aching head.  This couldn’t be real.  This couldn’t be real.  He couldn’t believe it.  As he and Sam made slow and pained progress down the twenty-two flights of stairs, Dean tried to think of a way that this could be okay.  Maybe Sam was hallucinating, maybe Cas had just left quickly, maybe he was something more than human, but did that mean he was evil?  What Sam had said earlier, that maybe Cas wasn’t an angel himself, maybe there was something sketchy going on, the idea tormented him. 

            “What is he then?”  Dean asked, “Not a ghost, then what?”

            “I don’t know.  Nothing good.  I’m sorry, Dean.  I know it’s got to be hard, he’s your boyfriend but…”

            “I know.  I know.  I just need time to process this.”

            “Okay.  I’ll look into Cas.” 

            _Look into_ him?  Just that morning, Dean had woken up beside Castiel, glad to find him there.  He’d been happy to feel his hands on him in the shower, had begged for more when they’d had sex.  What now?  How could he begin to imagine him as evil?  As Dean started up his car, he thought of Cas’s face, innocent and perfect, soft lipped, wide-eyed.  He shook his head.  Of course.  How could he be so stupid?  Of course Cas was too good to be true.  He’d showed up out of nowhere, earned Dean’s trust in a day.  Of course, the unassuming secretary, the rumpled tie, the perfect voice, it was an act.  It was an act it was an act it was only an act.  Right?  Cas had played him like a fool hadn’t he?  Shit!  Fuck!  He’d been played by a… by a what?  A demon?  A fucking vampire?  How shitty, paranormal romance could you get?

            There were sirens behind him, and flashing lights.  Trying to put his panic attack on hold, Dean pulled over to the side of the road.

            “Hey there,” the cop, a middle-aged woman, leaned on the side of his car, bending a little to speak through the rolled down window.  “You have any idea how fast you were going?”

            “N-no ma’am.”  He stuttered past his still writhing panic.

            “You been out drinking tonight sir?”

            “No ma’am.”

            “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”

            Dean groaned, “Fuck!  Come on, ma’am I’m just trying to get home.”

            “Must be really eager to get home, going seventy on a city street like that.”

            “Please!”

            “Sir, I’m going to ask you again, please step out of the vehicle.”

            “Oh for the love of… fine!”  Dean clambered awkwardly from the car, his legs shaky from fear. 

            He had barely made it out onto the street when, for the third time that night, he was slammed hard into an unforgiving surface.  The policewoman was holding him down, her hand roughly forcing his head against the side of the car.

            “That’s stupid, even by your standards Winchester.”  She growled in a barely human voice.

            “Winchester?  What?  I don’t- I’m not-“

            “Come on Dean, every SOB in hell knows who you are, you gonna tell me you don’t?”

            “What do you mean?”  Dean managed through gritted teeth.  “I don’t know you!  I’m Dean Smith, I don’t even know a Winchester!”

            “You really don’t know?  Oh, but this is great!  Dean Winchester, without his memory, I bet you don’t even know how to exorcise me you poor bastard.”

            The woman turned Dean around, this time slamming his back into the unrelenting car frame.  He was helpless, the woman’s eyes were black, really black, all the way through. 

            “What the hell?”

            “Funny you should ask.”  The woman-thing grinned, “Imma bag me a righteous man.”

            “ _Exorcizamus te,_ ”  Latin was coming out of his mouth, though from what hidden part of his brain he did not know, “ _omnis immundus spiritus,”_

            “What the hell?”  The woman demanded, letting Dean go, “Where are you-“

            “ _Omnis satanica potestas,”_   Dean was speaking with a sureness and an aggressiveness that was not his own, a voice that did not belong to him.  The police woman, or whatever it was, screamed in carnal agony, black smoke chasing the cry out of her.  Her body fell, limp to the ground, if not dead then certainly playing it well.

            “Holy shit.”  Dean whispered.

            He probably should have stopped to see if the woman was okay.  He didn’t.  He couldn’t.  He drove like hell, straight home.  When he got up to his apartment, he locked the door behind him.  Every impulse he had ached to curl up in a corner, in a nice, comfy fetal position, and rock back and forth until everything was okay. 

            There was no time for fetal positions.  Cas was a… God knows what, and there were smoky monsters after him, and he could speak Latin somehow.  Everything was wrong.  With quivering hands he dialed Sam’s number.

            “Dean?”

            “Sam!  Sam, did you find anything yet?”

            “I don’t know, nothing conclusive.  Dean, what’s wrong?  You sound freaked out.”

            “I- I spoke Latin.  I spoke Latin and I think it killed a woman, I think there are demons or something after me.”  Terrified explanations tumbled from his lips in utter chaos.

            “Woah, woah there, slow down!  Demons?  And you killed it with latin?  Dean, I think you just preformed an exorcism.”

            “Shit man.  I don’t know, I don’t know but how do we fix this?”

            “I don’t know!  But look, I can’t figure out what the hell Castiel is.  I’m working on it, but for now, I don’t think he’s the most dangerous thing out there, I mean, all he’s done so far is save us from a ghost.”

            _And tricked his way into my bed_.  Dean added but did not say. 

            “Look,” Sam said, “Why don’t you just come over to my place, if there are actually demons after you, you probably shouldn’t be home alone.”

            Dean strode absentmindedly into the bedroom.  There was something on the bedside table, something he couldn’t place.

            “Yeah, I’ll come over.”  He mumbled.

            “Okay.  I live over on the south side of town,” while Sam talked Dean picked up the little scrap of paper. Only after a moment did he remember it was the one he’d woken up with Sunday morning.   “My address is _462…_ ” 

            “Whaite street?”  Dean completed Sam’s sentence.

            “How did you know that?” 

            “I… Cas gave it to me.”

            “What?  Like, just now?”

            “No.  No, Sunday night.”

            “Was he staying over?”

            “Well… no.  I- he came to me in a dream.  We… talked and he told me to _find Sam_ then when I woke up this paper was in my hand.”

            “The hell…” Sam murmured.  “How does he know where I live?”

            “I don’t know!”

            “Shit.  This just gets weirder and weirder.  Okay, why don’t you get over here and at least we can watch each other’s backs.”

            “Okay.  Sure.”  Dean traded in his suit jacket for a green canvas one.

            It was eleven o’clock when Dean hit the road.  He wasn’t sure if he should have come armed.  _Armed with what_?  He argued with himself.  All he could’ve mustered would be a kitchen knife or something.  Nothing that could fend off the hordes of evil for long. 

            His panicked thought process was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

            “Sam, what now, I’m driving.”

            “Dean, it’s urgent.  It’s Cas.  He- he just appeared in my house, and I think he’s dying”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up! Sorry this chapter was so short, but as I don't have the notebook where I wrote most of this out, I'm without an outline. Please leave feedback, it's always really helpful!


	8. Chapter 8

For some reason, Dean was thinking about his first boyfriend.  It was 2003, he was starting business school at Stanford and Todd was _so_ California.  He had been quick to deem Dean’s brand of tentative experimentation inadequate.  Before Todd, Dean had been an uptight kid from the suburbs with a few urges he couldn’t talk about.  Bisexual wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary.  But it hadn’t lasted.  Todd had decided that business school wasn’t for him.  He didn’t want a desk job.  He was sorry, he hoped Dean would go on and have a good life.  He’d moved away to Berkeley or something.

            Todd had dumped him because he was boring. Now he was driving like a lunatic while Cas, his first boyfriend since Todd, was presumably bleeding out or something on Sam’s couch.  Not so boring now.  He had gone from mistrusting Cas to worrying about him so quickly his head was spinning.  Whatever he was, whatever his intentions were, Dean didn’t want him dead!

            This was Sam’s street.  Dean squinted through the dark at the addresses he was passing.  _638, 640,_ that was it, 642.  He pulled over the curb, running up onto it a little, but who gave a shit?  It was 11:30 and Cas was dying.

            The door was unlocked.  Dean burst in, heart pounding.

            “Dean!”  Sam shouted, throwing an arm out, catching Dean square in the chest.  “Wait!”

            “What the hell?”  Dean demanded.  “Where’s Cas?”  But the question was moot even as it left his mouth, Dean spotted Cas, frozen on Sam’s couch, somewhere between lying and sitting.  There was a grotesque bloodstain across his stomach but his face, turned up at them with an expression of pure bewilderment, showed no sign of being near Death. He looked fine.

            “He- he’s a monster, Dean.”  Sam insisted.  Only now did Dean realize the other man was armed, pointing a handgun directly at Cas.  “When he got here, poofed here out of thin air, he was holding his guts in with his hands.  He was done for.  He’s fine now Dean, the stab wound is gone, just, gone.”

            Dean looked from Sam to Cas.  His worry was swiftly being replaced by something else.  Disgust, betrayal.

            “Give me that.”  Dean snatched the gun from Sam’s trembling hand, unsure of what he’d do with it, but sure he needed it. 

            He turned to Cas.

            “Dean!”  The man, the _thing_ , started to rise from his seat.

            “Get back down!”  He demanded.

            “What?”

            Dean wasn’t thinking.  The only voice left in his brain was that of his rage, and it was screaming.  “Cas,” Dean’s voice shook, with anger, and fear, and some other emotion, he did not know.  “What are you?”  He demanded, advancing on the other man.

            Cas was almost cross-eyed, trying to keep the gun in view. “What?  Dean, what do you mean?” 

            “You know what I mean!”

            “I don’t, Dean, I swear.”  Cas looked up at him, wide-eyed and desperate.

            “Then how are you even alive?  When Sam called me over, I thought I was coming to hold your hand while you died, and now, what, you’re fine again?  And what about that little disappearing act you pulled at Sandover?  What the hell was that?”

            “Would you rather I was dead, Dean?”  For the first time, a note of real anger entered Cas’s voice.

            “No!”  Dean faltered, “no, but I know you can’t be human, and knowing what I do right now, I can’t see how that could possibly be a good thing.  So you’d better tell me what you are, right fucking now, or else…”

            “Or else what, Dean?”

            “Or else I- I’ll have to find a way to kill you.”

            “What?  But Dean, what happened to _I love you_?  What did I ever do to make you want me dead?”

            Dean felt his heart twinge.  He didn’t want Cas dead, it was the last thing he wanted.  Nevertheless, he kept the gun pointed at Cas’s head.  “Just tell me what you are.”

            “No!”

            “TELL ME!”  His hand shook.

            “I wont, I cant- Dean please-“

            And then Dean did something crazy, something he’d never do, could never have done yesterday.  He fired the gun. 

            Cas fell back against the couch, blood trickling down his face.  Dean had shot him right between the eyes.

            “What the hell?”  Sam demanded, backing away.  “Fuck!  Did you just shoot your boyfriend in the head?  In my living room?  Holy shit!”

            Dean’s mouth moved without words.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cas’s lifeless body lying on the couch.  The cushion behind him was splattered with scarlet.  Shit!  Fuck!  What had he just done?  He’d killed Cas.  _Killed_ him.  Shit!  And for what?  Because he wasn’t human? He didn’t know, maybe there were things out there that were good.  Had he just killed one?  If ever anyone was good it was Cas.  He was selfless, caring.  It was true, he had never done anything to make Dean want him dead.

            “We- we’ve got to do something.”  He aid at last.

            “We?”  Sam demanded, “I’m not the one who just killed a guy.”

            “Yeah, but you said it yourself, it’s your living room, you had the gun too, you’re an accessory to murder at best.”  Dean found himself beginning to regain his mental footing.  “So you’ve got to help me… you’ve got to help me hide this body.”

            “Oh…” Sam’s eyes widened.  “Oh God… okay, you’re right.  We… we should drive out into the woods.  Burry him there.  That’s what people do, right?  Burry bodies in the woods?”

            “The hell should I know?”

            Dean could not bring himself to look at Cas again, let alone touch him.  After much arguing it was agreed that Sam should carry the body, wrapped in a sheet, to Dean’s car.  Despite the humming, chaotic, panic, a tiny voice in the back of Dean’s head wondered what Todd would think of this.  Dean was too boring?  Too conservative?  Tell that to the man who was now hiding a body in the back of his Prius. 

            Cas did not fit so well in the trunk.  Sam made tiny disgusted noises as he shoved a loose arm back in.  He closed the back and got in beside Dean with a sigh.

            “Oh my god,” Dean moaned, “Oh shit!  There’s a body in my trunk, there’s a BODY in my fucking trunk.  And it’s Cas, I killed Cas!  Jesus Christ, I never meant to kill Cas, I loved Cas!”

            “Calm down, just calm the hell down!  Drive like everything’s fine, do you want to get pulled over?  It was self defense, man, he wasn’t human.”  Sam spoke with a conviction he wished he felt.

            They past the city limits and spend on down the highway toward the safety of the woods.  No one stopped them, there were no police.  It was with a sigh of relief that they finally pulled onto an unlit, dirt road that led off into the trees.

            “So do we just… burry it?”  Sam asked at last.

            “What do you mean, of course we just burry it.”

            “No, I mean, don’t we have to cut him up or…”

            “Jesus Christ!  No.  We’re not cutting him up!  What the hell?”  Dean shuddered at the idea.

            “But what about the cops?  Do you want them to identify him, do you want to get arrested?”

            “We’re _not_ doing it.  We’re not cutting him up.”

            “You’re the one who shot him.”  Sam protested, “you don’t get o be all high and mighty!  He stopped being your boyfriend the minute you put a bullet in his brain.”

            “We are not cutting him up and that’s final.”

            Sam gave in with a sigh.  “Fine, fine.  But if we get aught I’m _so_ going to testify against you in court.”

            “Do that then.”  Dean snapped, pulling over in a sufficiently out of the way stretch of woods.  “Get the body.”  He said, “I’ll grab the shovels.”

            Dean tried not to think about what he was doing while he was doing it.  He was digging a hole, not a gave.  A hole.  He was filling it back in, not burying a body.  _His_ body. The hole was not very deep, but it was deep enough.  When the deed was done, Sam and Dean looked at each other.  Strangers yesterday, they were in so deeply entangled in the same mess it seemed neither could get out.

            “Is that good enough?”  Sam asked.

            “I… I think so.”

            As they were getting back in the car, Sam said, “it’s kind of funny.  This afternoon we were scared of digging up a body, now we’ve buried one.”

            “I don’t think that’s funny.”  Said Dean.

            “Right.  Sorry about Cas.  This whole thing is about as screwed up as it could get.”

            “I didn’t want to kill him,” Dean said, thinking aloud.  “I never wanted to kill him, not even to hurt him.  But… but he… he wasn’t human.  All I could think about was that I’d been dating someone –something- not human.”

            “But I mean, you don’t know what he was.  He could have been a demon or something.  You… you did what anyone would have done.”

            “Shot him?  I… I guess.  But his eyes man, the way he looked at me, Jesus.”  He always looked so goddamn innocent.”  Dean thought about how Cas had looked that morning.  How, just last night, Cas had lain with him and promised to be there whenever Dean needed him.  Cas’s soft mouth on his own, Cas’s hands making slow and steady progress down his abdomen… but Cas was Dead. 

            “It’s gonna be okay man.”  Sam said finally, “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things escalate more! Comments please, I beg you!


	9. Chapter 9

            Dean dropped Sam a few blocks away from his house with the vague instruction to _clean up_.  There was blood all over the couch.  Then there was the matter of the gun, which Sam claimed he had taken from the dead security guard back at Sandover.  It was a murder weapon now. He was a murderer now.  He drove back to his apartment in silence.  When he was safely inside he locked the door, lest police or black-eyed monsters come for him. 

            He did not expect sleep to come to him that night and did not wait for it.  He sat up at the coffee bar for the last few hours of nighttime.  He felt the shovel still in his grasp, the blisters that had formed like a biblical plague on his hands still burned.  He had to remind himself that the blood on his palms was his own. 

            When at last the sun crept over the horizon and through his window, Dean hid from it.  Alone in his bedroom with the curtains drawn, he did not even turn on the light, but sat on the bed, glad he could not see himself.  The image of Cas kept asserting itself in the space behind his eyes.  Those blue eyes, flung open in an expression of surprise and fear, blood running down the cheeks, dripping onto the lips.  And even when he managed to push the face of poor Cas out of his mind, thoughts of black-eyed monsters with twisted smiles took his place. 

            Around six thirty, Dean called in sick.  The thought of the empty desk sitting outside his office like a grim reminder made him nauseous.  No, he’d never make it though a day.  He’d rather sit here in the dark.

            At eight, Sam called.

            “You at work?”  Dean asked, comforted and frightened by his accomplice’s voice.

            “Yeah.  Didn’t want to raise suspicion.  You?”

            “I can’t, I just can’t.  His desk is right fucking there…”

            “I know.  I’m sorry. But I- I cleaned up.  Look, I looked Cas up last night, just to see what was up, and get this: Castiel Novak doesn’t exist, anywhere.  Not even in the company records.  He was never hired, Dean.”

            “But- what?”

            “Yeah.  I guess we don’t have to worry about covering it up.  I’m doing more research.  I’ll fill you in if I learn anything.  And hey, I’ll look up demons while I’m at it.”

            “Thanks I guess.”  Dean muttered.

            “Keep it together.”  Sam said by way of a goodbye. 

            “I’ll try.”  He’d fail.

            Alone again in his dark void, Dean tried to convince himself that he was still the same man he was yesterday.  He was still the same dumb kid Todd had dumped for being too boring, he was still the same man who managed marketing and sales for a major company, who worried about quarter profits, who dieted, who drank lates and drove a hybrid.  He hadn’t gone through a material change; this was the same body he’d had yesterday.  Physically, it should be possible to go about normal business. 

            Hours passed slowly, and detached from the concept of time.  Dean felt hunted.  By monsters and guilt.  He could take one, but not both.  Sam texted him around noon to say there was nothing anywhere about black-eyed demons.

            _Are you sure you really saw black eyes?_

            _Yes_ No. 

No, he thought he was sure but now… he didn’t know.  It seemed suddenly possible that it wasn’t real.  Sure, he knew now that ghosts existed.  But demons?  If he was capable of shooting Cas, he was capable of imagining this.  He was going crazy, or maybe he had always been crazy.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

 _There’s something else._ Added Sam.  _I looked you up too.  Sorry.  Any way, you were born in ’79, right?_

 _Yeah._   Replied Dean, tentatively.

_No.  There isn’t a Dean Smith born in the United States in 1979.  If you were born in ’75 or ’83 there’s at least proof of live birth, but that’s it man._

_What?_

_I don’t know!  You don’t exist.  I don’t understand it either.  You were hired three weeks ago but I can’t find any records or references for you.  This is too weird._

But Dean didn’t answer.  There was nothing, no rock holding him to reality.  No proof of birth, no references.  He couldn’t tell what the hell was real.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  He threw himself down on the bed.  He needed something, anything to prove to him that it was real.  He realized he needed his mom.

Childish as it seemed he dialed her number desperately.

“The number you have dialed does not exist.”  A cool female voice confirmed his worst fear. “Please try again.”

“Damn it, damn it!”  His voice broke.  Dean cried.  Unashamedly wept alone in his dark room.

He felt like he was falling, plummeting.  All he wanted was something to hold onto.  There was nothing.  That was when the thought entered his mind.  _He could make it go away, all of it._  He pushed the insidious notion from his mind.  For now.

Sam called again but Dean did not answer.  He glanced at the phone, then laid back down on the blanket, damp with his sweat.  His whole body hurt.  Guilt weighed on his chest and fear, fear of himself, and the possibility that his faculties had left him.  _It could end.  He’d killed Cas, it only made sense_.  No.  No.  He had to remember what it was like to be normal.  _If he ever had been, if he wasn’t crazy_.  No.  He had to get through this, this was just a really bad day he could move on.  _His world was falling apart.  He didn’t exist, his mother didn’t exist, Cas didn’t exist but Dean had killed him anyway._   Dean couldn’t, just couldn’t go on.  He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was crushing the life out of him.

It was six by the time Dean gave in.  He had an old bottle of sleeping pills in the cabinet behind his bathroom mirror.  He didn’t know how many you were supposed to take to kill yourself.  The whole bottle should do it.  He took them in handfuls of six or seven, aided down his throat by gulps of water.  His hands didn’t shake.  Actually, it was the first time all day that he had stopped shaking.  He knew then that there was no going back, and that was okay.  This would all be over soon, all fade to black, and crumble away like dry sand. 

He unbuttoned his shirt a little, laid back on the bed and began to count back from one hundred. 

“Seventy nine,” he waited for it to feel like dying. 

“Seventy eight,” for it to become painful or scary. 

“Seventy seven,” It didn’t feel like death, not yet, not really. 

“Seventy six,” his limbs were growing heavy. 

“Seventy five,” he couldn’t move his fingers or toes.

“Seventy four,” he was numb.

“Seventy three,” darkness was beginning to encroach on his vision.

“Seventy… sev… fuck.”  He lost count.

Dean was floating in a void, yet somehow he knew, he felt that he was not dead.  Not yet.  There was a voice, familiar and heartening.

“Dean.  Oh, Dean.”

 _Cas!_   He thought without words, as great elation bubbled up in his chest, _Cas was alive!_  Or calling to him from beyond the veil, either way it was good news.

“Dean, I’m going to save you.  Hold on now, don’t die.”

Light shone around him, not bright and blinding, but warm.  He felt himself being lifted, pulled as if by strings attached to his chest.

The darkness gave way to a blotchy kind of reality, a particular, flesh toned blob in the foreground of his vision eventually resolved itself into the concerned face of Castiel.

“Cas!  Oh god Cas you’re not dead!”  He moaned, reaching with still heavy arms to pull the other man toward him.  It was only when he had successfully toppled Cas and felt his rough unshaven cheek against his neck that he paused and wondered aloud, “wait, how are you alive?  I- I’m so glad you are, I’m sorry, so sorry for shooting you!”

“Hush, Dean, you’re still recovering.”  Cas pushed himself up and sat beside Dean on the bed.  “I realize this must be very shocking for you.  I never should have let you think I was dead, I see that now.”

“Let me- what?”  Dean sat up with some difficulty to again meet Cas on his level.  “What the hell, man?”

“Dean I… haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“No shit.”  Dean muttered, trying not to be too bitter even after the terrible events of the day.

“I’m an angel of the Lord, Dean.”  Normally such a statement would make Dean laugh, but there was a severity in Cas’s eyes that was not to be scoffed at.

“What?  Like full on Christmas carol, harp and wings angel?”

“I do not have a harp, and I was not present at the birth of Christ.  But yes, I am an angel.”

“So we- I- with an angel?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.  Okay, I can figure this out.  And you were in my dreams too.  That time in Greenland.  That was real?”

“Also yes.”

“So why _did_ you let me think you were dead?  Couldn’t you have used some crazy angel magic or something?”

“I assumed you didn’t want my help.  I thought it best to step back and let you handle it.  Evidently I should not have done so.  Oh, Dean,” his voice softened slightly and he raised a hand to touch Dean’s cheek.  “I never wanted to see you hurt.  The whole point of my intervening was to protect you.”

“Should I feel special, getting the hot guardian angel?”

“Stop making light of the situation, Dean, we’re in danger.  Both of us.  You have demons after you, and angels playing games with you.  And me, I’ve been listening to angel radio.  I’m in trouble for what we did.  If they catch me I- I could be killed.”

“For the sex?  That was against the rules?”

“Yes.  It seems I’m on the bad side of heaven.”  The angel sighed.  “I was only trying to do my job.”

“I’m sorry.”  Said Dean, “That was my fault, wasn’t it.  I did push it a bit.”

“No.  No, I wanted it, I want it still.  If it were just you it wouldn’t be an issue but I _wanted_ to be taken.”  Cas’s face was a mask of tragedy, but beneath it there was that same hunger that he had worn that time in Greenland, and more recently, in the shower when he had rubbed Dean down with soapy hands.

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing.”  Cas hung his head.  “We cannot hide from heaven, from Zachariah.  But do not fear, your memory will be restored, the angels will not harm their righteous man.  I came here to heal you, but also so I would not have to die without seeing you one more time.”

“Cas, no!”  Dean grabbed the angel’s hands.  “We’ll run.  We’ll hide.  I just got over thinking you were dead, don’t do this to me again!”

“Dean no.”  Cas pressed his mouth to Dean’s, after so many kisses, his lips met the other man’s perfectly.  “There’s nothing we can do.”  His kisses were desperate, famished.  Though it killed Dean to think of losing Cas again, he did not interrupt the embrace, but rather pulled the angel against him, clutching at him, trying to commit every rise and fall of his body to memory.

“I think that’s my cue.”  A voice, jarringly familiar shattered the atmosphere like an eggshell.

“Mr. Adler!”  Dean said without thinking.  His boss, the angel, was standing right in the middle of his bedroom.

“Zachariah.”  Cas growled.

“Hey, Castiel, getting one last taste of forbidden fruit?”

“Don’t touch him!”  Dean snapped, rising to defend Cas, though even as he did it he knew it was ridiculous, stupid.

“Shut up maggot, you’ll be begging me to fry him when I fix your brain.”  The older man extended a hand, two fingers outstretched.

“No!”  Dean cried, but it was too late.  The angel’s light tap to his forehead was enough to send him crumpling to the floor.  His consciousness was slipping away but not before he heard Zachariah addressing Castiel.

“Let’s get you back to heaven.  Wouldn’t want to leave a mess in Dean’s lovely home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter isn't perfect. I'm trying not to let this get too long as I have other things to work on. This means cutting some corners, so I'm sorry! Still, I hope it was fun! Please leave feedback, if you liked it, or didn't like it, either way it is good to know how I can improve.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter guys. It's been a blast! I'll be writing more in the future, but not this story. I hope you all had fun reading, and please, please, leave comments. What worked? What didn't? I'd love feedback so I can do even better next time!

It had been three days.  Three days since everything came back, three days and his brain was still a fucking mess.  This was the third motel room, the third lumpy mattress, the third time he’d woken in the morning, Sam casting him dubious glances.  He’d told Sam to shut the hell up what felt like a thousand times since the minute they had got their memories back.

            “Where’s Cas?”  Sam had asked, as soon as they found each other, “Are you two still…”

            Dean had replied with the only explanation he had, spoken in the most controlled voice he could muster: “I think Cas is dead.”  Then with a retort that he hoped would shut up both Sam and his own, confused, senses:  “And I’m not gay.  Not in real life.  Okay?  So just shut the hell up.”

            Sam looked almost as confused as Dean felt.  “Okay, okay.  And you really think Cas is dead?”

            “Yeah.  That Zachariah guy zapped him back up to heaven.  From what he said it probably didn’t end well.”

            “For what?  I thought Cas was one of the good guys.”  Sam asked.  When Dean didn’t answer, but looked at the ground, blushing a little, the younger Winchester understood. 

            No more was said on the subject and that night Dean treated himself to an evening at a half-decent strip club, hoping to find peace of mind in the softness of a woman’s curves.  The chick came right up to him, had the little pink bow on the front of her panties just inches away from his nose, and though he was undeniably aroused, it didn’t do anything to shake that other feeling.  Horrible –at the time- because a little bit of his brain had definitely just pictured Cas in those panties.  And liked it.  Shit.

            He returned that night anything but satisfied.  And that was the first night he dreamed about Cas.  Not like the time in Greenland where it had been real.  Oh God, it was real.  But this dream was not.  This dream, Cas in those beribboned panties, pulling them down gradually, moving his hips slowly…

            “Dean?  Dean, wake up.”  It was Sam.

            “What the hell man?”  He grumbled, sitting up.

            “I think we need to talk about Cas.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you were moaning his name in your sleep.”

            Shit.  “No I wasn’t.”

            “Yes you _were_.”

            “I- Sam, just fuck off, okay?”

            “Dean, it’s fine if you’re… with Cas, but it can’t be good to just keep pretending you’re not.  It’s okay.”

            “Jesus Christ, Sam!”  Dean threw himself back down on the bed.  “I’m not gay for Cas, okay?  Whatever happened while we were under that freaky angel spell thing is not my fault.  I don’t like dudes.  I don’t have a crush on Cas.  And even if I did, he’s gone, okay.  Zachariah said he was gonna fry him.  So just shut the fuck up Sam. Leave it.”

            By the third day, Sam had confined his opinions to raised eyebrows.  When at last Dean couldn’t stand to be in the motel room with him, he took the car and drove for the sake of driving. 

            Pushing the speed limit on the open road, windows down so the air was rushing in his face, it felt like flying.  With the wind snatching the breath from this mouth and the thoughts from his brain, Dean found the first respite he’d had in days.  He was sick of the gnawing question in the back of his brain, the _am I, or am I not_? that he could have sworn had never been there before.  Obviously he wasn’t.  Obviously, he liked chicks.  Mind control made people do weird things.  So why the sudden identity crisis?  Why did he feel little pangs in his chest every time he thought of Cas being dragged up to heaven to die?  Why did his hands still remember the contours of Cas’s frame?  Damn it.

                        At last, realizing that whatever he did these thoughts would insidiously creep back in, Dean pulled over to the side of the road and opened his flask.  He raised it as if as a toast to his mounting insanity, then drank deeply.  Fuck it.  If he couldn’t have actual peace of mind he could at least have drunkenness.  It was almost as good.

            “Hello, Dean.”

            Dean spat a mouthful of whiskey out all over the windshield.

            “What the fuck!”  He demanded, whipping around at the familiar voice and finding Castiel seated, looking quite disheveled and a little singed, in the back seat.  “What are you doing here?  How the hell are you even alive?  Didn’t Heaven roast your ass?”

            “They tried.”  The angel sounded even worse than he looked, and despite everything Dean caught himself pitying him.  “I escaped.”  He explained, “but only just.  So I… I came here.”

            “Don’t you think this is the first place they’ll check?”

            “Maybe, but I wanted to see you again, to talk to you.  I realize we left on an… odd note.”

            “No kidding.”  Dean said, finally getting a hold of himself.  “You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?”

            “Back where?”

            “You know what I mean. During Zachariah’s little mind control game.  Why the hell did you let me do that?”

            “Do what?”  Cas still persisted with questions. 

            “Do _you_!  For fucks sake!  Why didn’t you say something to stop me, you know I’m not into…  into”

            “Angels?”

            “ _Men_ , Cas!  I’m not into men!  So why did you kiss me?  What was that for?”

            Castiel looked more than a little indignant.  “You certainly seemed ‘into it’ at the time.  If I recall correctly it was you who kissed me, by way of silencing my protests.  At every step, Dean, you made the first move.”

            “Yeah, but it was all part of your boss’s sick mind game.  You knew better, right?  You know I’m not gay.”

            “I believe the term for one who is attracted to both sexes is bisexual, Dean, unless you also lost interest in women.”

            “Don’t talk back to me!  You… you took advantage of me!”

            “Zachariah did nothing to your sexuality, Dean.  All he did was give you a different backstory.  You yourself were still the same.”

            “Oh come on, don’t give me that bullshit!  I _never_ felt that way about a man before.  You just took your chance where you saw it.”

            The bedraggled angel sighed.  “Fine, Dean, if that really is how you feel, I’ll leave, I’ll never come to you again.  But you must at least understand, I do love you Dean, and it would be very painful to leave on these terms.  Everything I told you before was true.  I love you.  I have since I first gripped you in hell.  I had never had, or even wanted sexual relations until you taught me to.  It’s true, I knew you weren’t yourself, but I was won over, it gave me hope.  And wasn’t it pleasant?  At least a little?  There were times, when I laid beside you there, that I was almost able to picture a better existence for the two of us.”

            “Better?”  Dean cut in, incredulous.

            “You were _happy,_ Dean, you were _safe_!  And… and…” it was strange to see Cas grasping for words, looking pained and sad and lost.

            “Damn it Cas!  I mean, yeah, I felt something, okay?  I still do.”  He didn’t know why he was saying aloud to Cas what he had been afraid to think to himself.  “I… I wanted that life okay?  I did.  I wanted to be the classy businessman, fucking his secretary, I even wanted… I mean, I thought about what it would be like to settle down with you.  But we can’t have that Cas.  It was fake.  And even if I do… even if I still have feelings for you, I just can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because this is _real_!  You’re _really_ an angel, and I’m _really_ a hunter.  We’re not supposed to be together, hell, you were already getting in trouble when we were friends.  This isn’t something we can do, Cas.”

            “Dean…”

            “No.  No.  You should go, Cas, before they come for you.  And don’t… don’t come back, okay?”  Dean felt his voice break.  He had just ridden through his internal debate, and now all he wanted was to get it out of his system.  Drink fuck and collapse on the shitty motel bed half conscious. 

            “Dean no, please no!”  The angel pleaded.  It was strange, having him beg.

            But Dean couldn’t, just couldn’t.  Maybe it was the part of Dean Smith that still hung about Dean Winchester, or maybe it the part of Dean Winchester that had finally gotten out through Dean Smith, either way, it was undeniable. 

            “Damn it Cas!”  Dean groaned, leaning between the two front seats and pulling the angel into a kiss. 

He marveled at the way their mouths fit, like puzzle pieces, even in the real world.  He twisted his fingers in Castiel’s dark hair, caught at his coat, pulled away and kissed his jaw and his cheek and his neck. 

“Fuck!  This is wrong, Cas, this isn’t supposed to happen.”  But he didn’t stop peppering kisses on every exposed inch of Cas’s face.

“I love you, Dean.  Will you still have me?”

“Yes.  Yes, shit!  I’ll have you.  I love you Cas, damn it!  I love you!  I love you! Shit!”  He was gripping Cas tightly by the collar of his coat, face just inches away from the angel’s.

And that was when, for the second time, Dean and Cas’s romantic moment was ruined by angels.  They stood just outside the car, armed with silver blades.

“Oh, God, not again!”  It was Zachariah, flanked by two other angels, both in black suits.  “You two are like dogs in heat.  Every time you’re alone together, you start eating each other’s faces off.  Now get out of the car.  Both of you.”

“No.”  Said Dean.

“No?  Oh, come on, don’t make me drag you out.”

“Do it.”  Whispered Castiel.

“You sure?” 

“Yes.  Get out of the car.  You’ll be alright.”

So Dean complied.  The two of them clambered out of the Impala, coming face to face with the angels.

Zachariah grinned.  “Oh Castiel, Castiel.  Did you really run all that way just to kiss your boyfriend again?  It was pretty stupid you know.  We’re still going to kill you.  Only now, Dean here will get to watch.”

“Zachariah, please, I beg you!”  Cas’s voice shook.

“No.  No begging, kiddo.  You screwed up, big time.  Literally screwed your way out of heaven’s favor and into big trouble.  And if the abomination you two committed wasn’t bad enough, your taste is worse.  I mean, a human Castiel?  Really?  You’re willing to die for a _human_?”

“You need to shut up.”  Dean cut in, simultaneously stepping in front of his angel.  “You’re not going to kill Cas.”

“And why is that?”  Zachariah asked, mockingly.  “Because you love him?  Don’t give me that crap.”

“No.  Because I need him, and you need me.”

“You think we need you?”

“I know you do.”

“Are you really willing to stake your life on that?”

“Yes.”

“Castiel really isn’t worth it, you know.  He’s a good soldier, sure.  But that’s it.  There’s nothing in there but a bunch of holy programing.  Let him go, Dean. Don’t push me.”

“No.  Cas is staying.”  He was determined to stand his ground.  “He can help us, Sam and me.  He can help us stop the seals from breaking.  And what’s it to you what we get up to in bed?  It’s not like we’re gonna have babies or some shit.”  He turned around and looked at Castiel, mouthing _right?_   The angel gave a mostly certain nod.

Zachariah sighed, looking a little tired.  “Fine.  Fine.  I’ll give you this one, Winchester.  You got lucky Castiel.  Stay useful, because the minute you’re not,” he gave the angel blade a noncommittal wave.

And they were gone.  Dean stood, looking at Cas, almost not daring to believe it was true.  He had really not expected to bluff his way out of this one.

“So,” Cas said, almost smiling at Dean, “does this mean we can… happen?”

“Seriously, dude, if we’re gonna be an item, no chick-flick moments, okay?  But yeah.  It looks like we’re happening.”  Dean laughed, “Hard to believe you’re the same guy who threatened to throw me back into hell.”

“I wasn’t really going to do that.  I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks, Cas.  That um… helps.”

“So what now?”

Dean opened the car door.  “We go back to the motel.  We figure things out.  I guess, Sam might be a little freaked out.  But he’ll get over it.”  This time, Cas slid in shotgun.  “I know it’s not exactly the white collar dream.  I can’t take you on a business trip to San Francisco, we’re probably not gonna settle down in a cute house in the suburbs.  But it’s a start right?”

“Yes.”  The angel’s soft lips edged up at the corners.  “It is a start.  And it’s all I could ask for. Thank you, Dean.  You’ve saved me, in so many ways.”

Dean started up the car.  “Shit.”  He muttered.

“What?”

“Sam’s gonna be a dick.  He was right.  I guess I do have a thing for you."


End file.
